


Election of (1800)

by GunpowderGelatin



Series: Can We Get Back to Politics? [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Aaron Burr Being an Asshole, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Aaron Burr, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Economics, Elections, Fights, Grief/Mourning, Henry Laurens' A+ Parenting, Human Disaster Aaron Burr, Humiliation, Mom Friend Angelica Schuyler, Multi, Past Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Politics, Post-Reynolds Pamphlet, Reconciliation, Recovery, Sad, Single Parent Aaron Burr, Thomas Jefferson Being an Asshole, Thomas Jefferson Loves Alexander Hamilton, White House
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2020-02-16 18:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18696709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GunpowderGelatin/pseuds/GunpowderGelatin
Summary: Alexander couldn't cope with his grief. Thomas can't cope with his guilt. Burr can't cope with his regrets.But something have to change, cause the elections are coming, and Alexander is the biggest wave-turner. With Addams out of the game, who will be the next US President?





	1. Three paths of the same story

01/09/2019

("The more beautiful the show, the greater the confusion behind the scenes")

Act 1 - Thomas Jefferson

("Short on two lines without the slightest sense and the confusion grows proportional to my confusion of mind")

A small jet lands at a private airport, not far from Manhattan. A man in a magenta suit is the only passenger, and he rushes to land, phone in his left hand, dialing the first number in his address book.

Regardless of whether his luggage was unloaded, knowing they would be sent to his apartment on the rooftop of one of the skyscrapers obscuring the view of NYC, he embarked on a private car, tinted windows, and a uniformed driver who greeted him politely through the open window.

A motto smothers every sound produced by it so that the other occupant of the car can not hear him.

The conversation isn't for his ears, anyway.

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end of the line belongs to James Madison, Virginia Senator and unofficial leader of the Republicans.

He sounds more tired with each passing day.

Thomas might have been more worried, but he knows he does not look much better himself. With dark bags under his eyes and shaggy hair more like a nest of rats than the delicate, hydrated curls of a month ago, he can understand.

The presidency is exhausting even before the election.

"Hey, Jemmy"

His own voice sounds tired too, and he argues with himself if he deserves a weekend at a spa on some small Caribbean island.

It's not like he can not pay.

"Thomas, I thought you'd be back only next week. How were the meetings with Lee? Have you reached an agreement?"

Thomas rolls his eyes. Jemmy would be completely lost were it not for his wife and PR Manager, Dolley.

The man constantly forgets his documents and meetings. Although very organized, his memory and the memory of an ant are not very different, except for the fact that the ant manages to return to the anthill without the aid of a driver.

Although, Thomas does not know how to walk unaccompanied anywhere in NYC outside of Wall Street, so he can not judge.

"The meeting with Lee is next Thursday. This time it was Seabury and we have a mutual support agreement with the Christian Liberty Party. And how are our deals with the Liberals? I did not even have a chance to check my e-mail."

James sighs, sounding even more exhausted. John Addams of the Liberals became a pariah outside and within the party for vocalizing his somewhat conservative views on sexuality and people of color (within the party that supported personal liberty, a political suicide; out of the party, voters rebelled against man).

But since he had already been approved for re-election, and the party could not put another candidate, they turned against him.

Since then, Thomas has started competing for face-to-face with an independent, Aaron Burr, and things are not pretty for the Republicans.

The truth no one dares to say in a louder voice than a whisper behind closed doors is that the candidate with liberal backing will win.

No one officially wants to inform the party of their influence in this election, even if they already know it (everyone knows).

And they are using this information very well.

Basically, selling themselves to the party that offers them more positions within the White House, but silently, so they don't look like mercenaries.

(they so are mercenaries, though)

"Not very well, I'll need your intervention."

"How?" Thomas asked suspiciously.

For James to ask for his help, he must be really desperate.

Thomas is a master at politics and manipulation, but he does not have the tactic to form alliances with parties with so different ideals

"I need you to convince the Liberals to support you. They control the election, you know that."

The line is silent for a minute before a nervous laugh reaches Madison's ears.

"Most of them are on Burr's side, since his opinions are neutral, more inclined to give in. In addition, the last independent president, Washington, was very good to the Liberals."

"Some would say too neutral." The senator insinuates, "And you know that liberals have strong opinions."

"Of course I know, after all, I've worked with Hamilton for years." The man rolls his eyes, before opening them, understanding the plan of his friend "... Jemmy, who exactly do you want me to look for?"

"He is a strong-minded, persuasive man, in the public good graces. And despises Burr."

"He despises me more than he does Burr."

Alexander Hamilton and Thomas Jefferson agreed on absolutely nothing. There is no way to the man to help him, especially after Thomas helped expose his relationship with John Laurens, the son of a prominent farmer and mayor in South Carolina.

The exposure resulted in an assassination attempt, which succeeded in killing Laurens in his own apartment. Investigations pointed to the boy's own father, who did not even try to deny it.

Thomas is sympathetic, seeing that, six months after Laurens, he was ripped from the closet by the media, which yielded many speeches pointing out his hypocrisy.

He knows he's a hypocrite, and there's no shame in admitting it. He survived after all and was climbing his career again.

So, in addition to his irritation at the mere presence of the man, Thomas has to deal with the guilt as well (although his participation was minimal, most of the scandal was the fault of Hamilton himself).

Not to mention the events that surrounded Hamilton's debt plan, the rumors that Thomas never denied, the humiliation that occurred during the process... The things he made the, then-Secretary of the Treasury, say and do.

The image of the liberal kneeling, denying each of his ideals in a voice filled with hatred, still occupies Jefferson's guilty and painful nightmares.

How he was a spoiled child at 29. He degraded another person, two years younger, nothing more than a beginner in this dangerous political game.

"There's no way he'll ally with me. Besides, he's been a recluse ever since Laurens died."

He's been a recluse since you killed Laurens, his mind whispers, He's a recluse since you broke him like a cheap porcelain cup.

"It is clear that you have not been having time in the last few days. Hamilton returned to the public eye almost a week ago, a statement in his hand about the mourning and the future, and the apparent millionaire inheritance that Laurens left him, much of it donated to the Schuyler Orphanage."

Thomas is not surprised by Hamilton's return to politics. If not even he and his despicable actions had been able to break the man's bond with politics, there is nothing but his own death that could permanently alienate him from his ideals, not even Laurens.

"And how is he acting? What made you think I could get close?"

What makes you think he's not going to laugh at my face and join Burr just because I've offered?

"He seems calmer than the last time he was in public."

The last time he was in public, Laurens's father had been arrested two hours ago. He looked coldly at the older man and left the courtroom, still wearing a completely black outfit, with no sign of his characteristic green.

Jefferson had noticed that, although there was nothing green about his clothes, his tie was a dark orange-red, the color of Laurens's hair.

It had not helped in his nightmares.

"Hamilton always seemed calm in any situation that did not involve opinions."

Thomas sighs. Alexander Hamilton is a man of elegant and noble appearance until someone disagrees with his ideas.

Ideas you wanted to erase, his subconscious insists.

He wanted his mind to shut up.

"Thomas, we need him. With his return to politics, and without anyone as strong as he in his party, most of the liberals turned to his opinion. I heard that Burr is already looking for him."

Of course. It is common knowledge that Burr and Hamilton have known each other for a long time. It's not an exactly friendly relationship, but they worked together for many years, and even studied together and been roommates at some point.

Before, of course, Thomas alienated the man to his side in a strategy to destroy Hamilton who, instead of tarnishing his career, broke his home and his heart.

"And how do you expect me to get him by my side?"

How do you expect Hamilton to forgive me, forgive us, and support everything he says he hates?

"You're going to have to make friends with the man, some parties here, a few drinks there. Hamilton is back in full force, and you have to accompany him"

The idea of someone following Hamilton is laughable. The Caribbean does not stop, he does not know the word "rest" or the concept of vacations.

The last two years being an exception, of course.

Thomas sighs on the phone again.

"I can try"

James gives a corresponding sigh, and closes his eyes, turning in the chair in his office.

"I knew I was going to say that, so I hired someone to help you."

"I do not need a nanny, James." The man's tone was tough. "I'm already a grown man"

"Sometimes I have a hard time noticing this." They both laugh, more out of nervousness than fun.

"And who is this person?"

"Angelica Schuyler. She was a close friend of Hamilton's, still is, but her father is a Republican and she is the person who can best assist you at this time."

Great. Now a friend of Hamilton comes to help him win the man to his side. This day is getting better and better.

And more, it has to be Angelica Schuyler. The older daughter of the founder of the Orphanage, rumors says that she is extremely protective of her sisters, and an exceptional lawyer.

The Orphanage had been Hamilton's first home, he knows, after innumerable taunts about the man's orphanage (how he had stomped low). The man studied law. In a good private college, to top it all off.

Thomas wonders if Angelica's protection extends to pseudo-brothers as well. There is no chance that Hamilton doesn't have a family connection with the Schuylers.

The first skyscrapers on Wall Street pop up among the other buildings, the Stock Exchange emerging like a century-old elm amidst so many modern buildings.

"And where can I find her?"

The sooner he solved this problem, the sooner he would be able to reach Hamilton, sign his candidacy, and be able to move on.

"She's your new PR Manager, she's going to call you soon."

"Okay ... Okay, I'm getting on the stock exchange. We'll talk later, Jemmy. "

"We'll talk later, Tommy ... And if you cross paths with Hamil-"

Thomas hangs up the phone, cutting off the Senator. Rude, but effective, since the man does not call back.

He knows exactly what to do if he crosses paths with Hamilton.

Thomas's guilt will not stop him from being president.

Act 2 - Aaron Burr

("Is it a sin to dream?  
\- No, Capitu. Never was.  
\- Then why does this divinity give us such strong blows of reality and part of our dreams?  
\- Divinity does not destroy dreams, Capitu. It's us who wait, rather than make it happen. ")

As an airplane lands near Manhattan, a discreet car park in Brooklyn, and a man of no more than thirty years, tall and with hair shaved militarily, leaves the vehicle.

In his hands, there is no cell phone, but four large gift boxes wrapped tightly together with beautiful satin bows, which will later find their way to his child's curly hair.

The stickers do not deny: The boxes are present, and the gifts are for his daughter, Theodosia Burr Jr, only three years old, who celebrates her birthday the next day.

The girl's mother had wanted nothing to do with her after she was born, causing great pain to the now single father, who loved her. Since then, he has carefully created the kid, despite never distancing himself from his political activities to the displeasure of his parents.

In his mind, he has the notion that if he wins the presidential race, he will not have much time for his little Theodosia.

He already doesn't have much time for the girl anymore, with the whole campaign going on.

Especially with the mysterious and troubled return of Hamilton.

But the dreams of power, of being able to make decisions and serve his country are no longer dreams as much as they're obsessions.

He opens the door to the house, climbs the stairs and places the presents hidden in his office, where the girl is not allowed to enter.

Before he can leave the house, his phone rings. It's John Jay, and he hesitates before answering. Burr and the Senator were never close, only exchanging amenities, so the call startles him.

Maybe not so much, if he has the man's number, but Burr has never denied his paranoia.

"Aaron Burr"

His voice is calm but hides the excitement of a desperate castaway who sees a boat on the horizon.

Not that he is very different since apparently his political career now depends on a man who hates him.

He does not think that the man will perceive the tones of his voice since he gains more the favor of the people than of the politicians.

John Jay is an ally of the Liberals, whom he has been for almost a week trying to lure to his side, seeking political support for the upcoming elections.

Although to speak the truth, it is no longer the liberals, but Hamilton, consciously or not, that controls the political scene.

Which meant that politics is more unpredictable than ever before.

Honestly, the man is alike to a hurricane. It came out of a nobody's land in the Caribbean, destroying everything to reach the top. He disappears for a time, pushed to the sea, but reappears even stronger, ready to knock down what knocked him down.

To say that Aaron fears Alexander is a hyperbole. He is fucking terrified.

"Good morning Mr. Burr, this is Jay, John Jay, Senator from South Carolina."

"Senator Jay? How can I help?"

His voice does not betray the uncertainty of his thoughts, but his face is contorted in doubt.

This may be a message of support or the final warning that Hamilton has allied with Jefferson, and that Aaron must distance himself.

Not that, in case of the second option, he will give up. Or that it is very likely, since, although Jefferson will do anything to win, the two politicians loathe themselves.

"I do not seek you for help, but to help, since I agree with your campaign in a multitude of ways."

The candidate almost screamed in happiness. John Jay is not Alexander Hamilton, there is no comparison, but he is still widely respected by the Liberals.

So if Hamilton does not declare unchanged support for Jefferson, there's a good chance that Aaron will take the lead.

And as stated earlier, Alexander and Thomas do not get along.

If the rumors are true, Thomas took more of it than just credibility.

"I'm inviting you to dinner at my house. And if I can't convince you to go in such short notice, I know from certain sources that you're looking for my dear friend Alexander, and he'll be here, as will be your fellow candidates. "

The unsaid words were that as long as Hamilton does not choose one side, his party will also avoid positioning themselves.

Well, dinner will be marking the beginning of the next nine months gravitating around a man who hates both sides of the election.

And that apparently has the respect of the owner of the house. Or at least Jay is smart enough to stay on the good side of Hamilton.

(Alexander had returned with everything, not waiting two days of his return to destroy Addams)

Hooray.

"I thank you for the generous invitation, Senator. On what date will this meeting take place?"

"On Friday, in four days, at nightfall, in my own residence."

The invitation sounds inappropriate, like a secret club or an old-fashioned duel. It sounded dirty, obscure, and makes Burr's body shake from head to toe.

He wanted to be in the room where it happens for a long time.

No one is keeping him from the room where it happens.

"Does the occasion require a gift, sir? "

"No. Only, if you pity my humble house and respect for the peace of dinner, you will avoid engaging Alexander in any kind of debate, or irritate him."

The Senator laughs.

As if this is a joke.

How had the man-made his career as a politician?

Hamilton is savage, and after he has succeeded, with selected words (so different from the verbiage before), completely destroy what was left of Addams' reputation, no one wants to leave him unsatisfied.

Much less Aaron.

"You see, I would be very disappointed if he addressed his unhappiness to the host. It took me a long time to convince him to be at a dinner with the presidential candidates, I had to go to Washington, and I do not want it spoiled."

And that's how he succeeds as a politician.

George Washington is probably the only person in the world that Hamilton hears, no matter the situation.

Lafayette, the Sisters Schuyler, Mulligan ... Not even Laurens had Washington's pullover Hamilton.

"I have the honor to be your obedient servant. Have a good day, Senator."

No way he would pass the invitation to have a chance to convince Alexander, for even though he still seems abrasive in his opinions and intense in his debates, Aaron can admit that man can be elusive when he wants.

He's been looking for a chance to talk to the man without success for almost a week, after all.

It is very difficult to reach a man who does not want to be reached. Especially when he has resources.

Even without an official position at the moment, he still has money, lots of money.

A month after Laurens's father was arrested, he died. He had been wounded in a quarrel with another inmate, and because he was an older man, he succumbed.

At least, that's the official story.

Hamilton has a great alibi (and was incapable of killing anyone other than verbally), and no one could prove that it was him or any of his friends, but Aaron knew.

The French ambassador's smile when he gave an interview the following week, coldly bemoaning the death of his best friend's father and murderer, was the smile of a predator.

But Hamilton, Mulligan, and the others did not seem to notice the smile and even reacted with sympathy to the widow.

So the man's money was divided into two parts. Half went to the wife, who basically left all the land and houses in the United States and moved to England.

And half went postmortem, to John, who in his will, left everything to Hamilton, who sold everything that was physical, donated half to the Orphanage, and disappeared a week later.

"Have a good day, Mr. Burr. And good luck."

The Senator's tone is not empty, but it does contain a warning tip: Hamilton will not be easily won.

With the end of the call, the presidential candidate frowns, sitting in one of the armchairs of his office. He does not forget the events that culminated in Laurens' death, and he doubts Alexander has forgotten.

But such thoughts must be accompanied by alcohol, then he pours himself a glass of scotch, and reclines in his chair, frowning brows.

He had, in every way, betrayed his friendship with the man by allying himself with his current opponent, and investigated him until he discovered that he was being extorted by a third party.

And finally, it had caused rumors until Hamilton could no longer avoid a press conference revealing his nightly activities with his best friend.

This did not affect his political career at all: Very few people among his party or constituency cared for his sexuality.

Actually, even the Republican side of the country is more liberal with such issues (Thomas is running for president after being dragged by the mud, after all, and it is no secret that Burr is more open in his options).

But it did destroy his personal life, and Aaron never felt so small. He had helped destroy the life of a man who he had once considered a friend, a colleague, an ally.

(perhaps more than that, but these are feelings that he will not vocalize, not even in his thoughts)

(he does not like to think if his jealousy was also an influencer in his decision-making at the time, it is enough to be sure of his envy)

Although the younger man would probably still have a vendetta against Aaron, he decided not to worry so much about it.

(he was worried enough about it in recent years)

Thomas Jefferson had done much worse, or so the rumors circulated five years ago.

The whispers state that Hamilton gave way more than White House reform plans to win the necessary votes for the debt plan.

Some murmurs include non-executable activities in public.

Some include prohibited activities for underage ears.

Some include heinous crimes.

(not that Aaron gives credit to these, Thomas isn't so despicable as to physically torture Alexandre)

But Burr had not gotten involved.

Burr never gets involved.

And he regrets it every time a new rumor, even six years later, comes upon that room.

But he will bring Hamilton to his side, and back to the bonds of his friendship.

You can never forget your first love, those who proclaim themselves poets say.

Burr disagrees.

You can never forget your first regret.

(even if Alexander fits the two criteria)

Burr's guilt will not stop him from being president.

Act 3 - Alexander Hamilton

("Tears are words that need to be written")

As the presidential race sweeps through New York, the pivot of the game is not, as many imagine, working.

Yes, Alexander has returned to his (no longer so) beloved work. He has returned to his caffeine addiction and tonights and days that seem to merge into one single moment.

Everything seems normal. But at the same time, everything has changed.

There is no longer anyone else to return to after workdays. There is no longer a person who remembers him to leave his work aside, there is no one limiting how much coffee he consumes or how much time he goes awake.

There is no one calling to say "I love you" after a long day.

There are not many romantic "I love you" in Alexander's life right now.

Not much sleep, since he can not sleep in his own bed. Two years have passed, and the sheets still seem to smell like John. The closets are still full of their blue shirts, and the turtle sweater Alexander hated is tucked inside the same drawer.

It's not like he needs the stupid sweater to sleep every day.

Only in most of them.

(the sweater, unlike the sheets, does not retain John's scent anymore, the smell of expensive cologne, cheap fabric softener, and saltwater)

The drawings of turtles are still scattered around the house. John's unfinished projects still occupy the bedroom computer, Netflix on television still has the flap that the boy insisted on having separated, as well as their joint flap.

(he has not watched so many movies lately, anyway)

(John liked movies)

(Alexander is not sure if there is anything that does not remind him of John in this house cursed with the memories of more than a decade of the union)

The man now sleeps in his office. Sometimes on the couch in the living room, when memories do not chase after him in his nightmares disguised as dreams.

(John's dreams are rarely bad)

(but waking up hurts)

(John is not here when he wakes up)

He does not keep in touch with many people. Of course, he can not ignore Hercules and Lafayette, or the Schuyler sisters, or Washington.

And he tried. He tried to distance himself, feeling the guilt of John's death weighing on his shoulders and the sadness preventing him from rising in the morning.

But his friends are nothing less than insistent.

(Lafayette camped at the door of the apartment after the funeral for two days with Peggy, until the two became irritated and the Frenchman broke the door)

(the company after days plunged into guilt was worth every penny he paid to fix the door)

(but he gave a key to Lafayette)

Then he allowed himself. He allowed Lafayette to invade his house and feed him, allowed Peggy to run the abandoned brush in the bathroom through his dirty hair and allowed Eliza to tear him off the couch and take him to his father's summer home in Boston.

In the early months, it was difficult. He did not leave the house under any circumstances, and in the first few weeks, not even the bed.

When July of the first year began to dawn on the horizon, Alexander was better. He left for Pier 17, one of John's favorite places, at least once a week. He went to the supermarket, and even to Central Park on occasion.

But New York was no longer his place. The city that had once housed him now was nothing more than a catacomb of dreams and an empty echo of forgotten laughter.

Alexander gathered his few belongings, some money, some clothes, and John's colony, and moved to the farm he inherited, with only the property itself and a few miles around still belonging to him.

("One day I want you to know the house where I grew up"

John was lying on the bed, a pensive expression on his face and a cigarette between his parted lips.

Alexander murmured uncertainly.

"Do you still have fond memories of there?"

"He was never a one-house, one-home kind of man, and my mother is a great person."

The Caribbean knew exactly who "he" was. The three years of friendship with John made it very clear that the boy never referred to his father as his father.

Alexander could understand. He murmured in agreement, exhaling smoke, the incorrigible habit of John perpetrated in him by constant company.

Even with John's complicated family situation, he could not help feeling a hot sensation in his chest.

He and his best friend had not crossed the thin line that looked more like a wall between them, but Alexander could dream.)

(this was so long ago)

(perhaps if Alexander had not crossed the line)

(perhaps if John had not knocked the wall between them with a kiss exchanged behind smoke curtains and marijuana cigarettes)

Since most of the public had come to the conclusion that he had sold everything, no one would find him there.

Then, completely cut off from the world except for the weekly calls to those who mattered, he followed a simple life.

He tended the vegetable garden and orchard, tended a dozen chickens and half-dozen ducks, made milk cheese from the two cows in the stable, swept the house and cataloged what he found.

He slept in a room without much pomp, exchanged food with an old couple from a nearby farm and swam in the lake when it was too hot to do anything else.

He did not write or read until December when the anniversary of his engagement aroused an urge that led him to the nearest town to buy a diary and a black ink ballpoint pen.

By February (a year, a year, a year), a diary had become twenty, and the simple ballpoint became one more expensive ink pen.

Alexander could not stop writing. Not about politics, or economics, or laws, but about John.

The eyes were so expressive that they seemed to undress and protect him, filled with happiness and contentment and a love so pure that could not be expressed by anything besides the words of the writer.

The freckles scattered across the milky skin, curving into ribs and forming constellations that Alexander liked to trace with his nails in the hottest moments.

The coppery hair, falling in loose curls around the boy's shoulders, piling up in piles on the pillows, tightened in his hands as the Caribbean man shouted John's name like a prayer.

The velvet voice that woke him up in the morning with promises of hope and put him to sleep with whispered declarations of love that kept him calm at critical times and guided him through his new life in the New World.

He did not tire of describing John, of writing odes, letters, requests, apologies, stories, memories, futures, past.

Many of the pages were yellowed where tears had fallen, and fingerprints of ink-stained fingers decorated the edges.

But an invariable remained all essays beginning with the same affectionate greeting with which Alexander had conquered John (even if the redhead liked to protest that no, Alexander had done nothing).

("09/15/2018

My dear John,

This is, with much regret, my last letter to you.

Our memories together continue and will always be present in my dreams and hallucinations, but I know, no matter how it seems, when my behavior is becoming obsessive.

I can no longer indulge myself, even if the longing that plagues my days and nights will not leave me until the last breath from my lips so that we can meet again somewhere else.

I do not deny that I miss you, your words and your looks. But it is time to let you go in peace so that both of us can follow our lives.

You were, and are, the best thing that ever happened in my life. You are still the person who makes me wake up in the morning, the object of all my dreams and muse of my ideas.

I feel ready to return to New York for my work and my ideas, if not calmer now, for I know that you would be proud of my self-control (even if neither of us possessed any) and the person I became.

Forever Yours,

Alex)

Alexander leaves the peaceful life the farm provided and leaves for New York. He makes use of his newly acquired money (what he does with a lot of people who never had a bit of it) to keep the farm (now it was not only John's memories preserved there, but his refuge in a stormy time).

Alexander's peace of mind does not mean he still does not harbor a deep aversion to the people in New York who indirectly caused his loss.

That would not prevent him from maintaining his professional impartiality in the upcoming elections. However much the hatred he held for the candidates, he was still a respectable politician and should do what is best for the people, their country and their ideals and party.

Alexander's grief will not stop him from being a good man.


	2. How the Game is Played

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dinner

* * *

05/09/2019 

( _In a sense of complex hesitancy, there is a hero)_

Act IV - Aaron Burr

( _"L'amour est enfant de bohème, Il n'a jamais, jamais, connu de loi" - Carmen_ )

Aaron Burr is not proud of the things he would do to get the things he wants. He spent so much time waiting, bowing, getting out of the way like a _roach_ fleeing from the sun, that he will stop at nothing.

Well, _almost_ nothing. He stops at mostly everything illegal. Well, he likes to think he would.

( _Isn't privacy invasion and slander both crimes_?)

That is also what he tells himself when he goes back to feeling like a bug. Because nothing can make you feel more like an insect than Alexander Hamilton.

He, on the contrary of his adversary, is at the dinner around fifteen minutes earlier. There aren't a lot of people yet, but soon he can't even see his own shadow anymore.

There's a cup of whiskey in his right hand as Aaron makes his rounds through the people, just minutes after the host.

"Well, you should meet my friend, Mr Burr. He is one candidate for the president. _The_ candidate, if I should say"

It was clearly a liberal zone. The room is full of Washington supporters and John Addams appointed ministers. Charles Lee is talking quietly with a tall woman by the fire, as Franklin passed quietly to get his fifth or eight drink- Burr couldn't be certain.

He smiles and twirls and dances to their godawful melody like a ballerina. Asked a question, it glances off, he obfuscates it. 

Talk less

( _Did that ever worked before? Your silence, your omission. Did you gain power? Power in exchange for the camaraderie you yearned for? What flimsy alibi did you give, do you remember? You weren't there. You couldn't have seen anything_.)

Smile more

( _Is that a smile or a facade of happiness to masquerade the loneliness you feel deeply rooted in you? Oh, you can't tell_ )

Don't let them know what you're against

( _You never did utter a word when your people where on the line, why would you do it now?)_

Or what you're for

( _Are you even for anything? Or are you merely a double-crossing man?_ )

In a millisecond, all eyes deviated from him to the door. It is like a scene in Cinderella, the illustrious protagonist arriving, and jealousy spurns inside Burr.

The eyes wouldn't ever be all on him, would they? He is _never_ going to be in the spotlight. He is never the principal attraction. Who would want to shy, softspoken Aaron Burr, when they could have vociferous, wild Alexander Hamilton?

The jealousy is quick to vanish and be replaced by embarrassment. He wouldn't want to be in the spot the man was, for no advantage on earth.

Alexander was always a handsome man. Dressed in a sharp black tux, he appears to have… grown. He isn't taller (making him the shortest in the room, but not the _weaker_ in the least), but something in him makes him look mature.

Sombre. _Mourning_.

The man isn't in loud colours. Gone is the shining green and the soft tones of yellow that seemed to mix like a fall's morning, substituted by rich black and wine red.

This Hamilton is unusual. Elegant, graceful, silent, _dark_ in a way he never was before. He seems to stalk the room like a puma after good prey.

With the long hair otherwise gone, and the goatee neatly trimmed, he is eerily similar to Tony Stark if someone was to ask Burr. He is a bit of a comic aficionado, can you blame him for seeing the connection? 

The way he moves to greet Senator Jay, however, reminded Burr of Black Widow.

Lethal. Sinful. _Dangerous_.

"Good evening, Senator Jay," Says Hamilton, silky smooth voice, taking the man's hand in a firm shake "Thank you for inviting me for your… _dinner_ , sir."

While Hamilton appears a lot of things, grateful isn't one of them.

"Good evening, Mr Hamilton," Answers Jay, an artificial smile of his own plastered on his face "Thank you for coming, sir."

"May I remind you, Senator Jay, it's Dr Hamilton." His voice is sweet, and his face, blank. Burr is more apprehensive of him than ever before.

Old Hamilton never remembered anyone of his PhDs in International Law, Economics and Business. Not so forcefully, at least.

"Of course, doctor. Are you anxious for the election, sir?"

"The president election? No, sir. It's too far down the line." For Burr, it's not. But Hamilton isn't running, so for him, obviously it is. 

Also obvious is the way everyone in the room is leaning towards the conversation with an interested ear.

"No… the party leadership election. You are on the run, are you not, sir?" His voice is strained, and Aaron suddenly remembers Jay is also on the run. And Hamilton's sudden comeback is awful for his business.

"I was appointed, indeed. Although, I'm not really sure who I am running against. It has been a rough week." Alexander is casual, but Burr knows he is lying. There isn't a thing that he lets pass without extreme detail.

Jay doesn't know it, though, and Aaron can see a flash of indignation cross his eyes briefly. Hamilton can see it too, and his mouth twitches.

"Is it not important to you, Dr Hamilton?" He asks with an edge to his voice, and people lean even closer.

"Of course it is. But the important isn't my adversaries, it's what can I do to the betterment of the party, don't you agree, Senator?"

Aaron now is sure that, in a month from now, he won't need to look who is leading the party. 

"Of… course, Doctor Hamilton. Would you like something to drink?" The Senator changes strategies, resolute now in getting on Hamilton's good graces.

Burr cannot blame him, as he is about to do the same.

"A sgroppino, please." 

Old him would never drink a cocktail. He would have gone for something cruder, beer or tequila. Maybe wine or whiskey, but this was…

Elegant. Deadly. Hamilton was either turned into a vampire over the last two years or he was compelled to sit through good-manners class by an Italian lady, and Burr isn't sure if it isn't both.

Aaron gets out of his stupor and goes in the bar's direction, where Alexander is making small talk with a glamorous woman in a blue dress with a mermaid cut, black hair up in a well-crafted bun.

It's Eliza Schuyler, and Burr looks around the room to finally see he is caught in his worse nightmare. 

Angelica Schuyler is the one chatting with Charles Lee, salmon-pink dress and tall turban, the image of dignity. She was being regarded for British Ambassador, in virtue of her work with her long-time fiancee John Church.

The youngest sister (who Burr is pretty sure works in the FBI) is roaming quietly with Mulligan, the Irish ambassador to the UN.

Lafayette is speaking with the one and only George Washington and his wife, Martha. The ambassador to France looks like he is tired, but with the problematic relationship France is upholding with Brazil (thanks to their hypocritical new president), it was not unexpected.

There's a woman in red beside Eliza now, and Burr just knows it's Maria Lewis, and he wants the ground to swallow him.

He has walked into an ambush. That's what this dinner is, an ambush. All of Hamilton's gang is here, save for Laurens because he is defunct, and wasn't that a marvellous thought? Because of Burr is indirectly accountable for his death, and all his friends, daresay family, are on the room.

( _And they probably are vampires too_ )

And Aaron doesn't have an ally.

He thinks about leaping out of the window. Hamilton hasn't caught a glimpse of him yet. He can't kill him yet. 

Well, too late. The man gazes at his direction like a hawk, and his features immediately change. Gone is the soft look he was directing Eliza, and back is a frosted stare that frankly, just makes Burr want to bolt.

But he is not that much of a pushover, so he stays rooted to the spot. The couple turns back, and when they make eye-contact with him, Burr can swear he sees his life pass through his eyes.

Maria has a softer look. Burr enabled her to get rid of her troll, raper, exploiter of a husband so she could go live her life and enjoy her lesbian romance, so she doesn't loathe him. Much.

Eliza, however, has hellfire blazing in the deeps of her eyes, and she makes a movement to go his way, but Hamilton narrows his eyes and put a placating hand in her arm.

The military man puffs in relief until the politician himself makes his way through the room to meet him, straight like a ramrod. 

"Good evening, Dr Burr," He says, but do not extend a hand and Aaron doesn't know why he speculated the man would.

"Good evening, Dr Hamilton," Burr answers, and his voice trembles a little as he closes his hands into fists inside his suit's pockets. "May I help you with anything?"

"No, unless you are the waiter." Hamilton raises a brow and his voice is plain and dry, and Aaron hates it. The otherwise passionate voice sounds like his. "I was going to ask the same thing as you, although."

"No, sir." Burr wants to say he wants help for him, and his party, and his ideas… but what could he present Hamilton with? How could, in the face of android Alexander, be capable of asking for anything?

"Then why, Dr Burr, were you _staring_ at me?" The man is direct to the point and ruthless. Burr feels as if he was swatted. Like a bug. The man takes a sip of his cup, and Burr isn't sure if this even is Hamilton anymore.

"I-… I was going to talk with you." He mentally whacked himself for such an unsavoury excuse. 

"About?" Drawled Alexander, all high and mighty, and Burr's mortification quickly become hate, a chaotic flame that spurred in the bottom of his stomach.

"I'm not sure, Mister Hamilton, I must have had an impairment of reasoning, as you don't have much to offer me, do you? After two years… _avoiding_ your duties, I wouldn't foresee you to." It is a bullshit answer, full of lies, and completely compromising Burr's position. His speciality.

But damn it, he wants a reaction! This empty, calm, controlled Hamilton is bullshit, this whole thing is bullshit, this is a scam, fuck this dinner and Aaron could probably tell you 95 reasons why.

There is this long moment of awkward silence between the two, but Hamilton isn't fuming. He is… contemplative, and Burr wants to smack him in the face and ask who the fuck he is because he sure isn't the 5'6'' menace Hamilton is.

"Oh, so is about the President run? Well, for me and my allies is a lose-lose campaign, as you surely must know sir, so this is a moot point."

Its clearly not his answer, its some rehearsed thing Burr is afraid of touching with a thirty-nine and a half foot pole. 

And even though Burr is seeing all his plan go to hell, he spares strength to emulate a smile to his rival, who only enters the place.

This talking was awful, but he was still way better than Jefferson. A mute singer would be better at convincing Hamilton than the republican.

"No, it's not about- well it is, but could you please stop?"

"I don't understand, Dr Burr. Am I doing something?"

"No-… Yes-… Not….- Oh, you understand it well, I just want a sincere response for you, Hamilton!"

"Are you accusing me of lying, Dr Burr?" The man was a wall of blank, and not even indignation passed through it.

"No! It's not what I'm saying… I just- I…. I want you to tell me what you think, not what your party thinks."

"And pray do tell, Dr Burr, why would I think differently from my party?"

"Because you always have been a very opinionated man, you never backed down of any argument, sir"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you just said I was avoiding my duties, Dr Burr?"

Burr kept his voice calm, but it was hard. He wanted nothing more than shake Hamilton until he threw a punch at his face.

"You were never one for mindless following, Alexander"

The man blanked more at his given name, and took a sip at his drink, looking at Burr like he was a mildly interesting puzzle. Or an amusing child. Or maybe that was just Burr projecting.

"I'm not sure I follow. Why would my judgment differ from my party's, Dr Burr?"

At that moment Burr took to look at any point of the room except Hamilton. He is ashamed, the questions are corning him to the point of no return. The games they'd played till now are at an end.

It was the moment of truth.

Act V - Alexander Hamilton

("The rain can't hurt me now, this rain will wash away what's past" - Eponine)

Alexander despises dinner parties and political congregations since he started in this world, but he loathes them now like never before.

If not for Washington, he certainly wouldn't be here. He wouldn't be in this dire situation, knowing that the two might-be-presidents were in the same room, two sides of the same rusting coin.

How was he so foolish to think that this gathering, which he was so pressed to go even though he would prefer to work his political moves regarding the nearby party leader election at home, was anything but bait?

John Jay would want nothing more than for him to embarrass himself and prove his "mental instability" or something.

It's unmistakable he isn't stable, did vermin devoured their brains? But he was skilled, which is more that he can say for Jay and his ridiculous turncoat intentions.

Alexander isn't stable or collected, or a pacifist. But he needs to be one, currently. Following the example of his "nemesis" (according to the media, who couldn't decide between Burr and Jefferson), he would shut the hell up and smile.

Well, not smile, because it's so good to mess with Burr and look like he is altogether void of enthusiasm while the man's carefully crafted deception plummets at his feet.

Because Burr may smile and stride, but his mask was made of glass and glaze, as it's prevalent to be with the ones who didn't withstand nightmarish scenarios through life.

Burr was never faced head-on with solitude. With destitution, with shivering nights and gnawing stomachs. He lost his parents, but he didn't lose his home.

He didn't relinquish enough to change glass for iron, flimsy resolution for word set on stone. His rage was able to make him look like a clown.

And that entertains Hamilton endlessly. How he could just feel and not demonstrate, and Burr would be wrecked, shrieking to get an acknowledgement to alleviate his own guilt.

Well, Hamilton doesn't want to subdue his embarrassment. He should be withstanding guilt and despair.

( _Just like you felt, uh? During all those days and all those nights, which could be one and the same_ )

He relinquishes in his bitterness, and keep his facade. Cornering the man who once left him without any possible exits make him feel avenged.

"Because it always has! Your judgment was never one of a mindless follower. You used to guide, to lead."

 _And I proceed to do,_ ponders Hamilton, _it's just you who are blind to subtler ways of will._

"And why would I not be part of my party's thinking process?"

"What Mr Burr insinuates is that he believes you can't honestly conclude that the two alternatives are equal in their despicableness"

The third part of this conversation could not be other but Jefferson, cane at hand like the pretentious fuck he is.

"Am I mistaken to denote that, Mr Jefferson?"

Burr has latent resentment in his blood and looks at the other man with spite like Jefferson was merely dirt under his foot, an ant ready to be crushed.

Hamilton is coldly amused. Who would reckon political games could be such fun? 

"I don't know. Is he, Mr Hamilton?"

The Caribbean is brought out of his daydreaming by the republican's question. He breathes deeply, as it wouldn't do well to lost his temper, and looks at both of them, blank.

"I stand by what I said, every bit of it," A pause let them both know how much this still is about the election "My party is still discussing the matter."

The silence washes over them like waves at a beach during a thunderstorm. The whole gathering is still, like if they are a time-rigged bomb ready to detonate at the first abrupt movement.

Maybe they are. Alexander isn't sure anymore of what he is. Of what those people are to him, of what he is even doing anymore.

Suddenly, his mood deteriorates again. He really hates political gatherings. People get so tedious, so quickly, when he can't just tell them exactly what he thinks of them. 

But he has to have some semblance of maturity, so he inhales and exhales, and exhales again for good measure, and smiles serenely. Like if he is a loon, and just remembered something very loony.

Being in New York is rendering him crazy.

"There was anything else you both would like to discuss with me, sirs? As you must know, we're pretty busy people" He manages an even bigger smile, like this is a private joke, feeling bitterly satisfied when both of them look at him like he lost his marbles.

"Uh-…No, sir. I would also like a word in private with you, Mr Jefferson, just for a moment, if you could excuse us" Hamilton just nods and leaves

He doesn't need to spy in their conversation to know it's about him.

Act VI - Thomas Jefferson

( _"There are bridges you cross you didn't know you crossed until you've crossed" - Glinda_ )

Jefferson is running late. No, that's an understatement. He is showering five minutes before the time the dinner is deemed to begin, he hasn't picked out a suit, nor has he called a cab.

It's hard to settle with his new agenda. It's no excuse, after all, he would be benefitting from this gathering more than anyone there. If it was truly Jay's will, Thomas knows that he wouldn't be there and the path would be open to his rival.

Jay is playing this election like a pyromaniac. He wants to see the circus on fire, the disaster that would further Hamilton away from him and Burr, put the ball in his own court.

At other times, Hamilton would be snickering at his lateness like a ruffian. Thomas is certain it won't be happening now.

( _Guilt is difficult to swallow, isn't it_?)

He doesn't wish to be late. Of course, he cherishes attention in many of its mischievous forms, but it would be good to address his target without warning him of his presence first.

( _Target, it was now how he called the victims to his less than palatable ways of manipulation?_ )

( _Or he just called his victims of life-ruining that way_?)

But Angelica held him captive all afternoon, and all the days before, in a frenzy of strategics and statements.

She obviously despises him, but hold to his pursuits and believe in his discourse, if not a bit too liberally, of course, as she is Hamilton's… something.

The older Schuyler tends to reprimand him over the smallest of things, but it doesn't bother him. If anything, it makes him evaluate things more carefully. He would never admit it, but he kind of wants her approval.

In the course of the four days, he learns a lot about his former rival. In some ways, more that he ever wants to know.

( _Well, at least that is what Thomas tells himself when he puts his head on the pillow and tries to conciliate the loving, gold-hearted, charity-donating brother of Angelica's brief comments with the passionate politician he once destroyed)_

 _(The thing is, it isn't that hard_ )

Hamilton dated Eliza, which, as he came to know, is the middle sister, and the one who now takes care of the Orphanage, for two whole years.

It ended amicably, Thomas guesses, as the girl have not an ill word to spoke about the man. She is now dating a woman, a fierce brunette by the name of Maria Lewis, which was, curiously, another of the man's conquests.

( _How can they simply move on? How did his passion not tangled and strangled them, keeping them enthralled and completely vulnerable to his will?)_

Jefferson had a hunch the Latina was the actual cause of the couple's split, but it was not a topic he had the position to ask about.

Another thing he notices is that Angelica carries a torch for Hamilton. It is unmistakable in the way she talks softly about him and her eyes illuminate in an unrealistic kind of wonder every time she peeks at their photograph. 

It's gross.

( _He is jealous of the way her body can answer to him without constriction)_

 _(Without guilt_ )

She is, however, dating, which puts her in a better position than him, and also seems very satisfied with the English boy that provokes her interest.

(But she is like him in the end, a simple moth to Hamilton's burning sun)

He now also knows Margaret, the youngest, is almost as a sister to Hamilton as to the other Schuylers. She cherishes the politician, which means that, by default, she loathes Thomas.

( _She is not the only one_ )

Jefferson also rediscovers (he is sure that information was somewhere in his mind) that Hamilton is close friends with an old friend of his, Lafayette. He is probably staying with him or the Washingtons.

_(Or in his ancient, nightmare-ridden flat. Gosh Jefferson, are you a fool?)_

This, plus what it seems like ten thousand little stories, renders Thomas even guiltier - and prone to make an idiotic gesture, like apologizing for something he isn't capable of correcting. 

Apologizing, and meaning it. Apologizing to someone who loathes him.

( _How can this be worse than seeking the friendship of a mournful man for political purpose? At least the apology would be sincere_ )

He gets out of the shower and goes to his dresser. After putting on an elegant tuxedo with a smooth magenta tie, Thomas reckons he is fairly good-looking after the gruesome day he just had.

He is certainly able to charm the pants off Hamilton…. Or at least his reason. He hopes. Conceivably. With some luck. 

Taking a cab down to the dinner, he ponders on how he would go about persuading the infuriating politician. The man was rambunctious and boisterous before, and absolutely hazardous to not provoke.

Should he play it by ear? Or go with a carefully calculated layout of alternatives and techniques? Is he striving for repentant? Humbled? Flatterer? Dare he says, flirtish? 

How could he address the man? Hamilton is a no-nonsense individual and a bullshit spotter if he ever saw one. Thomas couldn't try and kiss his arse after all that transpired between them.

Or maybe he could. Perhaps a tragically played apology, with tears, down to melodramatic sobbing and loads of grovelling, would do the trick. 

Would Hamilton even care, though? No matter how genuine (and they aren't, at the least, even though Thomas is remorseful) his apologies are, he did cost the man his love. 

It doesn't matter, because he arrived at the manor in which the dinner had commenced, a little less than twelve minutes ago.

There were cars still arriving, and at that sort of events, it is customary to hold pre-drinks, to acclimate the guests and start the political plays.

As he ascended the marble steps to reach the double doors, he took a deep breath and told himself that this is only chess, and he is the player, where Hamilton is a simple piece.

( _Oh what a celebration, he'll have today)_

It didn't feel like it when he opens the doors and is presented with the sight of Hamilton and Burr.

Talking.

Amicably, apparently, but he can't see as Hamilton's back was turned to him.

Burr smirked, one of his outraging tiny blank smirks, with no enthusiasm and no passion and no anything because the man was a damned blank wall, and Jefferson wants to yell.

He takes a deep breath and struts into the room. It is past the time to take his piece back.

…

It turns out, it didn't work quite like he thinks it would.

He strides and strouts, all flair and might, just hoping to get a reaction, any reaction. He hoped he would be able to scoff and to reply, to banter and debate.

Hope is really a vicious thing because Hamilton barely spares him a glance. He doesn't seem to care. He doesn't seem to even be alive.

( _Is he?)_

_(Is living imagining death so much it feels like a memory even worth it?)_

And now Burr just cut off his chance to discover why.

"What was that for? Are you trying to sabotage my chances in this election, because I will tell you-" 

"Did you see his eyes?" Interrupted Burr, in the softest voice he ever heard from the booming man.

"No, why? They are brown and dull, just like their owner" It wasn't true.

Hamilton's eyes were like hot chocolate, with little specks of mint and soft lilac, always searching for something.

"You can stop pretending with me, we both know better. You are, however, spot on. His eyes are dull. Did you ever seen his eyes not sparkle with interest?"

"Interest of causing mayhem and be, in general, a gremlin?"

"Maybe, yes" Burr doesn't smile, but his eyes are calmer. "But interest, nonetheless"

Jefferson stops and thinks, and he can't recall a situation where Hamilton was so still and quiet and robotic, still propense to kill them all with his tongue, but not in an endearing way.

Alexander was never as dangerous as he is now, not even when he was an irritant gremlin.

Jefferson fears he might miss it.

"Isn't that what we wanted?"

"I'm not sure I wanted that"

"I'm not, either"

And both of them, enemies in the political games they play and in the hidden heart both of them follow with their eyes, sigh in the way old friends do when they betray together.

 


End file.
